Whispers of the Wrong Name

SERAPHINA

Opportunity rarely announced itself with fanfare. It slipped in quietly, disguised as misfortune or chaos. And tonight, opportunity had delivered the Alpha of Silverclaw straight into my waiting arms.

Roman slumped in his chair, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey beside him. His eyes—those piercing golden-brown eyes that normally commanded absolute obedience—were glassy and unfocused. The proud Alpha reduced to this... all because of her.

I circled his desk, trailing my fingers across the polished wood.

"You're in a state," I said softly, plucking the glass from his loose grip before it could fall.

He blinked up at me, struggling to focus. "Told you to go."

"And leave you like this? I couldn't possibly." I refilled his glass, making sure it was more generous than his previous pour. "Drink. It will help."

"Nothing helps." His voice was rough, broken at the edges. But he took the glass anyway, downing the contents in one desperate swallow.